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Poetry Swap
Poetry Swap is how Midnight Cabaret does poetry readings. Since one of the key elements of Midnight Cabaret is collaboration, we brought our own poems and swapped them with eachother. Each person was reading one or two of someone else's poems - and the result, we got to hear our words filtered through the imaginations and voices of those around us. That's the beauty of poetry - while it is extrememly personal, at the same time it is universal. Poetry Swap 2010 The first Poetry Swap took place on February 13, 2010 in Slonim Living Room, from 6:00 - 8:00 pm. It was hosted by Andrew Bustria and Nikki Reinhardt. There were cookies (thanks, Emma Casey!), milk, poems by us, poems by famous poets, and a rousing game of "Exquisite Corpse" (which will be posted on here soon...). Exquisite Corpse Poems These poems were co-written by all of those who attended Poetry Swap (Yoshi Kuroi, Shannon Lippert, Emalyn Feitshans, Nikki Reinhardt, Andrew Bustria, Michael Bothwell, Kassie Parrott, and Carolin Dithrich). Basically how the game works is that each person writes a line of poetry at the top of a piece of paper, and then passes it to the person to their left. That person then writes another line, and folds over the original line, so that when they pass the paper to the next person, that person only sees one line (which they respond to). Usually these poems end up not making much sense. But that's why it's fun! Poem 1 (Emalyn's) No, do not judge me as if I did not know they do not match. (Blame the dryer). For I've got a silly trick up my snatch. So you better beware: you've met your match! However, as always, there is a catch! Rationality tastes less exciting than these choco-dip cookies. What I'd like to know is the question, and why isn't it part of the poem? Let me tell you what this poem is about. This poem is about shit. Poem 2 (Nikki's) When the sun explodes tomorrow. We will dance in a suit of light. And land on the wings of the flock mid-flight. "Don't fall now!" cried the flock with all their might. But they fell, one by one, into the cold stagnant night. Kind of like dead cats, or Mafiosos with cement shoes. I want to step into the same river twice. I dare fire & burn my feet. I will give up sleep. Poem 3 I am sitting in a room on fire. And I'm holding a box of matches. One strike of my wrist, the sulphur whisps in air. By the heat of the Earth- or a solar flare. Who could say which? Or perhaps just a fun dare? Stair blare fair's fair's a share where mares can care for bears. One, two punch; very G. Stein lunch. The tea for me please. I'll have what she's having. Poem 4 (Shannon's) "Oh the horror!" quoth McFox "I want my drink on the rocks!" "I want a gold-plated cadillac and a signed copy of the Communist Manifesto!" Santa gave me a queer look, saying "From one red to another. you misbehaved. Eat coal." This is how you get the black lung. I wish my kidneys were purple. But then again, I don't see my kidneys on a daily basis. Category:Larger Projects